


The Sword Hidden Among The Pinions

by PumpkinDoodles



Series: 'As is' Means With All Faults [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, One-Sided Attraction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-19 11:58:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14873339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinDoodles/pseuds/PumpkinDoodles
Summary: This little ficlet takes place in the same AU as my "As Is Means With All Faults" series and occurs around the Christmas in part II, "Recording Our History On The Bedroom Wall." It's sort of like a Marvel end credits scene, only it happens in the middle of the main story, off-stage from the main events. My version of Dr. Strange is a British expat, so imagine that Cumberbatch gets to have his lovely accent (and his Sherlock coat & scarves) back.





	The Sword Hidden Among The Pinions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fayrlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fayrlight/gifts).



A day or two before Christmas, NYC

 

With Tony, Steve, and the rest of the Avengers now back at the facility, Darcy was busy with Christmas prep. Scott and the Wombats were the most helpful assistants she’d ever had; Kurt had a real knack for Russian snowball cookies. Everything was going so well, Darcy felt free to sneak off to the city to do some last-minute Christmas shopping for Steve. Tony had made her a panic button bracelet for emergencies and Nat said she would go with her. The redhead was a little tired of hearing about Luis’s strong feelings on wrapping paper.

 

“ _ Milaya,  _ I must go with you or I shall kill that man. His voice is like psychological torture to me now,” Nat said. “When I hear him, I start to twitch.”

Darcy giggled. “Is that why he calls you Samantha? From  _ Bewitched? _ ” she asked. “The witch who twitches her nose?” Nat’s face did an involuntary thing that really did look like Samantha Stevens. It took Darcy five minutes to stop laughing. “All right, Sammy, let’s blow this joint,” Darcy said, doing a very bad Uncle Arthur impression. 

 

***

 

Nat was buying a cup of tea at a vegan cafe, swearing it was the first peaceful beverage she’d had in a week, so Darcy felt comfortable ducking into the little hippie shop next door. The speakers were playing some sort of holiday-themed world music. She was browsing their books, looking for poetry collections for Steve, when someone spoke behind her. 

“Miss Lewis?” a surprised-sounding voice said.

Darcy turned and found herself facing Dr. Stephen Strange. The shop was very small, so he was only a few inches away. She jumped a little. He peered down at her. He looked slightly less strange, if only because he’d left his cloak at home; he was wearing an expensive looking dark coat and a dark blue scarf that shimmered in the low light of the store. It was surprisingly elegant for a man who normally wore mobster-bling necklaces.

“Dr. Strange?” Darcy asked.

“I’m sorry if I startled you,” he said formally. “My apologies.”

“It’s okay,” Darcy said. “I was, uh, Christmas shopping for Steve.” She gestured towards the shelf of poetry.

“Captain America likes poetry?” Strange asked quizzically.

“He loves art and literature. I’m trying to catch him up. He missed the sixties. Steve’s mother was an immigrant from County Cork in Ireland, so he grew up hearing turn-of-century folk songs and poems.”   


“Mostly anti-British ones, I’d wager,” Strange said dryly. “Cork is the rebel county. Full of Irish nationalists.”   


“Yeah, we found that out. Where are you from?” she asked. He had a British accent.

“London, originally. I grew up in Kensington,” he said. “But I’m an American citizen now, so I ought to do my duty. Has Captain America read Kahlil Gibran?” he asked, plucking a book from around her. Tall people, Darcy thought, enviously. He handed the book to her.

“Probably not,” Darcy said, smiling to herself at a memory.

“What’s funny?” Strange asked. 

“I read  _ The Prophet _ when I was fourteen or so, mostly because Elvis loved it and I loved Elvis,” Darcy said.

“Elvis liked this?” Strange asked, his eyebrows raised. 

“Uh-huh, he gave away copies like crazy,” Darcy said. “He wrote marginalia in his copy about a singer having ‘ears to receive the song.’ I think Steve will like it, too. Thank you for reminding me.”

“You’re very welcome,” Strange said formally. His eyes, Darcy thought, were striking like Steve’s, but coolly assessing, rather than warm.

He followed her to the register. Off to the side, she noticed that they still stocked a handful of CDs. “Oooh, Um Kulthum, I love her,” Darcy said. She added it to her stack of purchases.

“You like Um Kulthum _and_ Elvis?” Strange asked, looking baffled, as she paid for her items.

“Oh, she’s wonderful. I used to listen to her all the time in the lab until Jane said it reminded her of cats being stepped on. I was an Islamic Studies minor at Culver,” Darcy said.

“Islamic Studies and astrophysics?” Strange asked.

“Political science. I flunked Farsi and somehow ended up with Jane and then aliens rained from the sky and that was that,” Darcy said, keeping her tone breezy. “Now Jane is my other half in life and Science! and nobody I meet knows who Um Kulthum is.”

“I’ve heard. From Thor,” Strange said, another of those strange expressions crossing his face. “I may have fallen into magic after a car accident that I could’ve prevented and now everyone forgets I was a surgeon. It can be...humbling. Reminds me of something.” He pulled the book from Darcy‘s grasp and read the words aloud to her as they stood at the checkout, his British pronunciation perfectly crisp and emotionally removed:   
  
_ When love beckons to you, follow him, though his ways are hard and steep. And when his wings enfold you, yield to him, though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you. And when he speaks to you believe in him, though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden. For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning. _   


When he looked up at Darcy again, she said, “It’s a beautiful passage, doctor. How did you end up in New York?”   


“A woman named Christine. We’re not together anymore,” he said softly.

“Would you like to meet my friend the Black Widow? She’s just next door,” she asked him.

They drank tea with Nat and talked about Um Kulthum and traveling and poetry. When his cup was empty, Strange stood and turned his collar up against the cold. “Merry Christmas, Miss Lewis. Miss Romanoff. It has been a very nice evening.” Then he vanished into the dark.

 

“ _ Milaya _ ,” Nat said neutrally, “you have a gift for drawing odd, lonely men to you.”

  
  



End file.
